


a history of things

by zayheathers



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: 2am postings fun fun, Bitter Exes, F/F, ellen/renee is past but also maybe present, may continue at a later point, renee is so crass I'm so sorry, renee still has feelings oh no, we're almost the exact opposite so if I portrayed her a little off that's why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zayheathers/pseuds/zayheathers
Summary: She was planning to shoot whoever had the nerve to be knocking at her fuckin' door at seven in the morning, but now she sees it's Ellen, she's more likely to shoot herself. Just outta pure frustration.
Relationships: Ellen Yee/Renee Montoya
Kudos: 34





	a history of things

**Author's Note:**

> adventures with our resident disaster lesbian aunt: renee montoya. (apologies for the low quality, I'm sorely sleep deprived).

Seven in the AM and already someone’s at her fuckin’ door, and honest to god if it’s some fuckin’ basket case or charity worker she’s gonna slam the door in their face so fuckin’ hard they ain’t gonna know what hi—

  
  
  


“Ellen.” _Fuck_ . Instead of some loon at her door it’s Ellen, who’s holding her bag to her chest like it’s some sorta armor and pushing her glasses up her nose—which Renee knows for a fact is a nervous tick. _Fuck_. Is this really her life right now? She’s got two hungover kids on her couch and her ex at the door?

  
  
  


She slams said door in Ellen’s fuckin’ face before she has a chance to even open her mouth. But quietly. Because it’s still seven on a Saturday morning, and Lance and Bertinelli are still sleeping.

  
  
  


Ellen, always the persistent type (Renee guesses this is why she makes a great fuckin’ lawyer, and why they lasted as long as they did: she’s man enough to admit she’s difficult on a good day), opens the door again because, of course, Renee forgot to take back the key when they broke up and, of course, she still has it. And of course, she’s gonna use it at every opportunity. And of course…

  
  
  


She needsa fuckin’ cup of coffee. Her brain’s movin’ as slow as a beat cop filing evidence. So she lets Ellen in, too tired to keep closing the door in her pretty face. But she lets her in with a groan to, you know, let her know she’s not exactly welcome.

  
  
  


“What d’ya want?” Renee would _really_ love to be shoutin’ at her right now, but, again, there are two half-drunk idiots on her couch and she can’t do nothin’ about it.

  
  
  


“What?” Ellen startles, blinking to clear her head as if she hadn’t expected Renee to invite her in, let alone start talking to her. Which, granted, she probably wouldn’t have. If it wasn’t seven in the fucking morning.

  
  
  


“I _said_ ,” Renee groans, finally having made her coffee, and turns towards her so they’re face-to-face, “what do you fuckin’ want Ellen?”

  
  
  


“I don’t—”

  
  
  


“You’re obviously here for a reason, and I’d like to hear it so I can get you outta here as soon as possible.”

  
  
  


Ellen glares at her. “Well, I was here to _apologise_ but you’re obviously going to make this _very_ difficult.” And Renee wants to say, _no shit, dumbass,_ but she knows that’ll just prolong this experience. And she’s itchin’ already.

  
  
  


Instead, she just chuckles drily around her coffee mug—god, her head's throbbin’ bad—letting the bitter sound speak for itself, but instead of rising to the challenge like the true anal-retentive Renee had known, Ellen’s eyes just soften. Takes a deep breath. Looks so fuckin’ vulnerable that Renee doesn’t know what to do with herself. 

  
  
  


Her brain settles on just staring because obviously, she doesn’t know what’s good for her. _Or_ her highly caffeinated heart.

  
  
  


“I… I know that nothing I say can make it better, but if it’s any consolation, I truly am sorry.” Well, least she sounds sincere. At this point, though, Renee honestly couldn’t give less of a flying fuck. But she lets Ellen continue. “I know that my actions ultimately lead to your resignation, and I—”

  
  
  


_Hold the fuck up._ “Woah, wait a second, who the fuck told you that?”

  
  
  


“Captain Erikson said—”

  
  
  


“That fuckin’ son of a bitch, I’ll—”

  
  
  


“Regardless,” Ellen pushes on, obviously having no patience for what she once called ‘a trivial rivalry’ ( _or_ for Renee’s fight or fight instinct) pushing her glasses up her nose again—this time because she’s getting irritated. Renee can tell from the press of her lips, the set of her jaw—she knows from a long time'a practice. “I shouldn’t have sold you out like that. You wouldn’t have done the same, if it were me, and I’m… regretful… I didn’t extend the same courtesy.”

  
  
  


Renee nods, as if she’s listening—which she _is,_ swear to god, she gets where Ellen's comin' from—but her brain’s still a little stuck on the whole ‘Erikson’s lying about her again, actin’ like she’s some dog who walked away with her tail between her legs.’ Can’t the guy give her a _fuckin’_ break, not like she’s around to bruise his ego anymore. Just when she thought she walked away with some sliver of respect. 

  
  
  


“ _Renee_!” The woman looks like she’s about five seconds from stomping her foot in a tantrum, and Renee is helpless to the thoughts that run through her head. Mostly along the lines of how Ellen is somehow a mix of fuckin’ adorable and fuckin’ hot when she’s mad. And that she fucking missed the sound of her name from the woman’s lips. “Are you even listening?”

  
  
  


“Oh, yeah, for sure,” she says, waving her hand. Note to self, she really needs to get Ellen Yee outta her house because it’s bringin’ a fuckin’ _load_ of feelings back and she isn’t ready to deal with that, not now. _Probably_ not ever. She has enough bags of shit to shift through already. “Uh, apology accepted, you can go now.”

  
  
  


“I, uh, wait, what?” And Ellen blinks again, shakin’ her head like she needs a moment. “ _Renee_ , you can’t—” 

  
  
  


“ _Shh_ !” The other woman stops her protesting to visually follow the direction of Renee’s pointed finger, eyes widening when she realises they were about to have an audience. _Good_ , she’s distracted.

  
  
  


The pause is just long enough for Renee to turn her around without her realising, and once Ellen continues at what barely constitutes as a whisper, they’re both walking towards the door. And god help her, Renee must be a masochist or some shit, because she still thinks it’s cute. “This isn’t— You can’t just—”

  
  
  


_You bet she fucking can._ And with that, she pushes her out of the door—Jesus, this woman smells _good_ —and closes it for good measure. _Love to watch her leave._ (But hate to watch her go?)

  
  
  


Sitting at the table, she picks up her mug of coffee, which is, tragically, fuckin’ cold already. She gets a beat or two to curse in silence, and then from the couch: “ _Smooth_ , Montoya.” _Fuck._ If Dinah was awake, it probably meant Helena was awake for that whole thing too. _Fuckin’ fuck._

  
  
  


Outwardly, she groans. _Why are they_ still _on her fucking couch? Don’t they have_ houses _and_ beds? Takin’ advantage of her fuckin’ hospitality. “Shut the fuck up, Lance. Ain’t you supposed to be asleep?”

  
  
  


“Uh, yessir,” is all Helena’s says, her masculine stamer never failing to bring a quirk to Renee's lips. Dinah giggles and any suggestion of a smile falls into a frown.

  
  
  


Maybe she’ll call Ellen later, she tells herself. To have a proper talk, she tells herself.

  
  
  


_Fuck no_ , herself tells she back.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos and comments are loved and appreciated, but never mandatory :)


End file.
